


give it back

by Elleh



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, That ep fucked me good, post ep 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29897781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/pseuds/Elleh
Summary: “Kaoru,” Kojiro says, and kneels beside him. His eyes are closed and his head is bleeding tons, shit, what if he has a concussion, what if—“That fucker smashed his board on my face,” Kaoru hisses, eyes still closed but voice strong. Kojiro’s head falls forward, his muscles relax all at once, the mere sound of Kaoru angry and alive enough to clear the draining tension off of him. “I will fucking end him.”“Not if I end him first,” Kojiro promises. The vehemence, the plain, absolute truth of his words is strange enough that Kaoru finally opens his eyes—one bloody, the other swollen—and looks at him with shock. “Hello, there. Let me take you to the hospital.”(In which Adam is a fucking bastard, Kaoru's in pain, and Kojiro can do nothing but be there for him. Direct follow-up to ep. 9.)
Relationships: Nanjo Kojiro | Joe/Sakurayashiki Kaoru | Cherry Blossom
Comments: 6
Kudos: 206





	give it back

**Author's Note:**

> so, ep 9 happened, and I have feelings tm, and honestly I am very angry at adam and I feel I'm not the only one.
> 
> Obviously this is 100% spoiler-y for ep 9 (that post-credit scene did so many good things for me), so be aware!

Something breaks loose in Kojiro’s chest at the sight of Adam smashing his skate on Kaoru’s face. 

It’s burning red, branding his insides like a corrosive acid. Poison, and the strength of an earthquake shaking the already weakened foundations of a friendship that hasn’t been for so long it now crumbles, soundless, meaningless. Kojiro’s hyper-aware of his own breathing, of the contraction of his muscles, from shoulders to hands, jaw and lips. The big screen shows Kaoru on the ground, bloody and beaten—fucking beaten in a fucking beef, as if this were the regular weeknight for all of them—and then it pans to Adam in his fucking, ridiculous costume, standing as if what he’s just done hasn’t broken more than just Kaoru’s skin. 

“What the hell?” Shadow musters besides him. 

“Is that— Should we call an ambulance?”

No one is calling an ambulance. Kaoru isn’t getting out of here in anything but his own feet or the benevolence of one of the spectators, and Kojiro’s experience in the matter doesn’t make him feel positive about it. 

He’s still burning inside. 

Without a word, he turns around, tries to find the race’s car and fails, and the flames in his chest start crawling up his throat, turning into a huge lump that clogs his breathing. He looks around, whatever vehicle will fucking do, dammit, but there’s nothing, nothing but people cheering Adam or complaining about the shortness of the beef or the occasional but unwanted _oh no, cherry needs help!_ , that amounts to people doing absolutely nothing. 

Kojiro’s starting to see red. His breathing is harsh now, his muscles so tense they feel on fire. If he manages to make it to Kaoru before Adam vanishes, he will fucking kill him. 

“Here.” A hand on his elbow. Kojiro turns around so fast he almost punches Shadow on the face. His and Miya’s expressions are somber, which manages to calm down the obliterating rage eating Kojiro from the inside out enough for him to think. Shadow shakes his hand again, making the keys clink. “Take it. Go pick Cherry up and take him to the hospital.”

Kojiro picks the keys with care, reverently. Kindness should be the norm, and still, Kojiro feels indebted to them for this little gesture. He asks, “Are you sure?”, but he’s already running towards the car, parked on a corner by the entrance. 

Adam isn’t there when he arrives. Kaoru’s still on his back, nose bleeding, head bleeding. Carla’s electric voice keeps beeping in a weird, song-like rhythm. The board might have been broken, too. 

“Kaoru,” Kojiro says, and kneels beside him. His eyes are closed and his head is bleeding tons, shit, what if he has a concussion, what if—

“That fucker smashed his board on my face,” Kaoru hisses, eyes still closed but voice strong. Kojiro’s head falls forward, his muscles relax all at once, the mere sound of Kaoru angry and alive enough to clear the draining tension off of him. “I will fucking end him.”

“Not if I end him first,” Kojiro promises. The vehemence, the plain, absolute truth of his words is strange enough that Kaoru finally opens his eyes—one bloody, the other swollen—and looks at him with shock. “Hello, there. Let me take you to the hospital.”

“I—“

“Please. Don’t,” Kojiro says, and it’s low and it’s calm, but Kaoru knows him well enough to understand Kojiro’s restrained emotions hang by a thin, worn thread. If Kaoru pushes the issue, he will snap, and indeed he will snap Adam’s neck. “Let me take you to the hospital.”

“Okay,” Kaoru murmurs, and for once in his life, he has no complaint and no insult for Kojiro. He says nothing when Kojiro leans forward and slides his arms behind his back and his legs; he grunts with pain when Kojiro stands up, Kaoru in his arms and against his chest, but still not a single word of anger or lightness can pass the barrier of his wounds. 

The burn comes back, a devastating fire. Kojiro holds Kaoru closer to his chest, just so, enough to feel Kaoru’s drenched and cold forehead rest against his jaw; enough that by the time they make it to the car, Kaoru’s blood is now rivers drawn on Kojiro’s chest. 

Kaoru’s barely conscious on the way to the hospital. And meanwhile, Kojiro seethes with blinding rage. 

And meanwhile, fear takes hold of Kojiro and doesn’t let go. A fear he’s never known before, eating at him faster than anger ever could, than anger ever will. 

  
  


*~*

Kojiro doesn’t stay. He can’t, what with him _not being family_ — _what the fuck do they even know of what family is, huh?_ —and the fact it’s past three a.m. already and he has to wake up in four hours to start preparing the restaurant for tomorrow. 

He texts Shadow and Miya, in case they are still stranded on S, and promises Shadow he will bring the car back tomorrow when they both assure him they are safe at home. Kojiro ignores their messages of support for Kaoru. Unnecessary, really. It’s not as if Kojiro can deliver them, anyway. 

So he goes back home and showers the sweat and fear and blood away, and through it all, his blood boils. There’s a blankness in his mind he’d have welcomed any other time, the restlessness of his body paired with the absolute calm of his head usually a pleasant state. This has happened to him before after returning from S, the adrenaline still pumping his veins at such high he can’t fall asleep, can do nothing but think of the surge and the energy and the fucking trip that is going that fast in a weak-looking board. 

Tonight it’s not adrenaline and the rush of danger that’s keeping him awake, skin hot and breaths too cold to be comfortable. It could have been, after that beef with Langa. It would have been, if Adam weren’t the piece of shit that he is. 

Fuck sleep. Kojiro’s not gonna manage a single minute of rest, so he might as well go down to the restaurant and start early. Props of being the boss: you can be in an awful mood at will, _and_ work as much as you fucking wish to. 

It’s a fucking long day. Kojiro works hard for his sourness, tiredness and overall worry to not burden the rest of the staff, but it’s undeniable the air is heavy with it. He gives the hall staff an early evening, because they deserve it to keep up with his shit and because he doesn’t think he will manage to keep the hold on his emotions for much longer—he is, in fact, exhausted—and by the time closing hour comes around Kojiro’s ready to finish one of his wine bottles and pass out on his bed. 

“Good evening.”

For a moment Kojiro believes he is hallucinating, but of course he isn’t. Kaoru wouldn’t stay put in a bed, dutifully getting better, even if he had been stabbed instead of smashed with a skateboard. 

He looks… fine, in that way people covered in wounds and bandages are when they are not prostrated in a hospital bed. The swell in his eye has gone almost, now a fading purple in its place framed by the thin glasses. His skin, when he gets closer, looks healthier; pale, as it always is, but not sickeningly white with blood loss, and pain, and anger, and grief. 

“Shouldn’t you still be in the hospital?”

“Don’t be an annoying gorilla and give me alcohol.”

Kojiro wants to lean across and feel him. Wants to grab his face with his hands and make sure he’s truly okay despite the slight shake of his fingers when they lay on the counter, that his eyes are well despite the blood and swelling, that he will be back on his annoying AI board in no time. 

He can’t stop thinking about Carla, electric voice broken, singing Kaoru a lullaby while he lay there, bleeding on the ground. 

“I’ll open another bottle, then.”

“You do that. I deserve the best wine you have after letting that asshole break my face.”

Kojiro takes his time, knowing either Kaoru won’t stay awake long enough to drink or that they’ll have to fight because in no way is Kojiro letting him drink a single sip. 

Kaoru’s fast asleep on the counter when he comes back, open bottle in hand, second glass between his fingers. He sits beside Kaoru, the perfect excuse, fills up both glasses, and drinks his in a single gulp, drowning his fear and anguish and this void that has been growing and growing inside of him since yesterday night. 

The little breaths of his sleep move a straying lock of hair, resting across his nose. Kojiro puts it back behind Kaoru’s ear with tenderness, shy fingers scared of touching too hard, of brushing a wound invisible to his eyes. Still, his knuckles find the pale, clean skin of Kaoru’s cheek, that place Kojiro has dreamed of kissing and biting often enough, the place he has only managed to poke just to piss him off, now sacred land. 

“Mmhfg, ‘tired,” Kaoru mumbles, and that’s decided, then. 

“Come on, let me take you home.”

Kaoru’s eyes remain closed, although he stirs, bringing a hand to Kojiro’s forearm, stalling him. Kojiro goes so still he’s barely breathing. 

“Not home,” Kaoru manages to put out. “Don’t wanna be alone. Please.”

Kojiro can’t help it—the images of Adam hurting Kaoru, of Kaoru on the ground with Carla’s lullaby as only comfort, of him on that hospital bed, broken and lonely, go in a loop in his mind, hurting, hurting—: he puts a hand on Kaoru’s nape, a possessive hand to all standards, a grip that should not be because that’s not how they are, but he needs it there, he needs Kaoru to know he is not alone, he will never be alone as long as Kojiro breathes. 

“You are not alone, Kaoru.”

“Mmmh.”

Kojiro leans forward, enough for his lips to brush Kaoru’s temple—sacrosanct—and there he lingers for a second, sure Kaoru’s enough out of it to not remember the tremble of Kojiro’s lips against his skin. 

Time to go home to sleep, though. Kojiro’s beaten, and Kaoru should be resting in a proper bed. 

“Let’s go to my place, then, okay?”

“‘kay.”

With careful hands, Kojiro pushes Kaoru’s shoulders until his back meets the chair. Kaoru’s head tilts to the side, still fast asleep. The bruises are more pronounced on his restful skin, under the harsh light of the restaurant. Kojiro’s fingers linger on Kaoru’s chin, on the defined line of his jaw. He’s fine; he knows he is; safe and sound and harmed but just so. It’s not the first time he’s ended up in the hospital because of a race, except this is everything but their regular trip to the docs. This, this was malice, vile and premeditated. This was not just Adam being obnoxiously dangerous and thoughtless of others, this has been his personal attack on Kaoru, who’s for so long adored him, who is, to all intents and purposes, one of the few people in the world who truly loves Adam. _Loved_ Adam. 

“Take me home?” Kaoru asks, taking Kojiro out of his mental rage. He has a single eye half opened, staring up at Kojiro who can’t but look back at him. His fingers are still tracing his bones. “You okay?”

“Shouldn’t that be my line?”

With herculean effort—Kojiro sees clear as day how difficult moving is, being it soreness or bone-deep tiredness—Kaoru lifts his hand, closes it on top of Kojiro’s so now Kojiro’s palm is flat on Kaoru’s skin, blanketing his cheek, thumb brushing the beautiful drop of his eye. 

“‘m fine.” A strangled sound is the only thing Kojiro manages to say to that stupidity. “I genuinely am. Don’t do anything idiotic. Gorilla,” Kaoru adds, for good measure. 

Kojiro knows, knows it deep in his belly, that Kaoru’s okay; he’s alive and well, skin broken but bones intact, except there are wounds so deep not even blood can seep from them when they open. They are invisible and bottomless, and sometimes it feels like Kaoru's slashed with them. 

Wanting to protect him from them is idiotic, indeed. Kojiro doesn’t have the impulse, really; what he wishes, what he tries when his big hand keeps warming the coldness of Kaoru’s skin, is to ease the pain a bit, to make walking with those slashes more bearable, not comfortable but livable. 

“Let’s go home.”

  
  
  
  


They sleep entangled in each other’s limbs, Kojiro the ground to Kaoru’s body to lay onto, his arms ironclad around his waist and back. Kojiro’s left hand is buried in Kaoru’s hair, deep in the silky strands. His other hand branding his hip, keeping him close. A smothering hug, except every time Kojiro stirs or eases his hold, Kaoru will cuddle closer, will demand Kojiro to hold him harder, to erase any pretension of any distance between them. 

And, as it usually happens where Kaoru’s concerned, Kojiro has no problem complying. It’s after all, the only way Kojiro finds—outside of their bickering, outside of verbally acknowledging it—to cope with the fear at seeing Kaoru hurt and down. No, not only the fear but the extensive range of emotions Kaoru brings out in Kojiro, from frustration to envy, to wonder, to anger. To love. 

This, right here, this hug that feels like oxygen to both of them, will tomorrow be a dream they will never speak of, as they usually do. A wordless comfort, but still Kojoro holds Kaoru close, buries his nose in his hair and searches for the caress of his breathing on his collarbone, because the same way there are wounds hidden in the depths of one soul, far away from prying eyes, there are truths, as simple as caring for one another, that can keep someone from slipping into the abyss. 

Kojiro doesn’t need to say it out loud. Doesn’t need Kaoru to put words to things they have been pretending aren’t there for years. A hug in a time of need, a glass of wine or a shared evening in a closed restaurant, the knowledge Kaoru will reach for him when he feels lonely or hurt: that’s enough. 

It’s enough, but when Kojiro holds Kaoru closer still, basks in the sweet smell of him, the lingering touch of antiseptic never letting him forget the core of this moment, Kojiro promises to himself he will make Adam pay. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Carla singing lullabies comes from the [trivia section in the Wiki Fandom page for Kaoru](https://sk8theinfinity.fandom.com/wiki/Kaoru_Sakurayashiki#cite_note-q.26a-1) and is, in fact, canon.
> 
> Ep 9 has done a 180 on my perception of this ship. Can't wait to keep writing about them (there might be a fake dating au for these two on the making).
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and here you have my [twitter](https://twitter.com/EllehlEtoile) in case you have the urgent need to come and yell at me about matcha blossom and their love.


End file.
